Chapter 42: A bike to hold.

The glaring red letters of the defeat screen reflected brightly in Sana Ibe’s dark eyes. She let out a long, ragged exhale, letting her digital device slip from her cramped fingers onto the soft duvet of her bed.

The device was practically hot to the touch, humming faintly from the intense strain of a forty-minute match that had ended in an absolute disaster.

She slumped back against her pillows, staring blankly up at the ceiling of her bedroom. Her wrists ached, and a dull throb pounded relentlessly behind her temples.

She had completely misread the enemy jungler’s rotation during the final team fight, getting caught out of position and costing her entire virtual team the game.

’Kazu would not have made that mistake,’ she thought, turning her head to press her cheek into the cool fabric of her pillow.

’He would have known exactly where they were hiding in the fog of war. He would have pinged the grass, rotated early, and wiped them out before they even cast a single skill.’

She closed her eyes, and unbidden, an image of their stoic captain drifted into her mind. She pictured Karl standing beside her pod in the arena, turning to her with that completely unreadable, calm expression of his.

In her imagination, he reached out, placing a large, warm hand gently on top of her head.

You played well, Sana. I am proud of you.

A sudden, intense heat rushed straight to her cheeks. She groaned loudly, grabbing a spare pillow and shoving it directly over her face to muffle her own embarrassment.

Her heart fluttered chaotically in her chest at the mere thought of him praising her like that. She desperately wanted to get stronger.

She wanted to hold her lane perfectly so he would never have to worry about her side of the map, so they could stand on the massive stages in the central metropolis and win together.

The sharp squeak of her bedroom door opening pulled her violently out of her fantasies.

Sana tossed the pillow aside, sitting up quickly. Her older sister stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

The usual teasing glint in her sister’s eyes was completely gone, replaced by a tense, incredibly uncomfortable shadow.

"Get dressed," her sister said, her voice dropping into a serious, hushed tone.

Sana frowned, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. "Why? What is going on?"

"He called," her sister replied, looking away toward the hallway. "Dad. He wants to speak to us. Actually, he was very specific. He wants to speak to you."

The air in the bedroom suddenly felt incredibly heavy.

Sana froze, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She had not seen or spoken to their father in years, not since the messy divorce had fractured their family into pieces and he had walked out the front door for the very last time.

The memories associated with him were a complicated tangle of raised voices, slammed doors, and deafening silence.

She had spent years avoiding the very thought of him, burying the complicated grief under endless schoolwork and ranked queues.

But hearing that he had reached out, that he specifically asked to see her, sent a cold jolt of apprehension straight down her spine.

’I am not ready for this,’ Sana thought, her chest tightening painfully. ’I do not want to see him.’

But another part of her, the part that had stood in a tournament corridor and shot down an advancing enemy without flinching, pushed back against the fear. It sounded serious. If he was breaking years of complete silence to request a meeting, something major had to be happening.

"I will go," Sana said, her voice trembling slightly before she forced it steady. "I cannot keep hiding from him forever."

Her sister offered a tight, sympathetic nod. "Get ready. I will wait for you downstairs."

Sana walked over to her closet, pulling out a simple, comfortable outfit. She chose a dark pleated skirt and a warm, oversized sweater, hoping the layers would serve as a sort of physical armor against whatever difficult conversation was waiting for her.

She was just brushing the tangles out of her dark hair when her phone vibrated sharply against the wooden surface of her desk.

She picked it up, expecting a message from her sister telling her to hurry up.

Instead, the name flashing on the cracked screen made her completely stop breathing.

Karl.

They shared a group chat for the team, but he had never once sent her a direct, private text message. Her thumb hovered over the screen, her heart resuming that frantic, erratic fluttering rhythm from earlier. She tapped the notification.

Karl: Come downstairs. I am waiting outside.

Sana stared at the words, reading them three times over to ensure she was not hallucinating. Karl was here? At her house?

She dropped her hairbrush on the desk and rushed over to the window, pulling the heavy curtain aside just an inch to peer down at the street below.

The late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the pavement. Parked right in front of her apartment building was a massive, sleek black powerbike.

The engine was currently idling, emitting a low, powerful rumble that she could faintly hear and feel vibrating through the glass on the second floor.

Sitting atop the heavy machine was Karl. He was dressed in his usual dark, understated street clothes, but sitting on the motorcycle, he looked incredibly intimidating and effortlessly cool. He had one foot planted firmly on the curb to keep his balance, his hands resting casually on the handlebars, his dark eyes scanning the street.

As Sana watched, a group of young women walked past the building. Every single one of them turned their heads, openly and blatantly staring at Karl, whispering to each other and giggling as they walked by. Karl did not even glance in their direction, completely ignoring the attention.

Sana felt a sudden, fierce spike of possessiveness flare up in her chest.

The bedroom door swung open again. Her sister walked back in, stopping abruptly as she saw Sana pressing her face against the window glass.

"What are you looking at?" her sister asked, walking over and looking over Sana’s shoulder down at the street.

Her sister let out a low, impressed whistle, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline.

"Well now," her sister teased, a wide, knowing smirk spreading across her face. "Who is the incredibly handsome boy waiting on the motorcycle? Do not tell me my little sister has been hiding a secret boyfriend from me this entire time."

"He is not my boyfriend," Sana stammered, her face turning a brilliant shade of crimson. "He is just my team captain. I have to go down there and see what he wants."

Her sister laughed softly, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. "By all means, do not keep the handsome captain waiting."

Sana practically ran down the stairs, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She pushed the heavy front doors of the building open and stepped out into the cool evening air.

Karl turned his head as she approached, his sharp, flawless features catching the fading sunlight.

"You came down fast," Karl noted, his voice completely level and grounding.

Sana stopped a few feet away, her hands linking nervously together in front of her skirt.

Every time she looked directly at his face, she remembered the way he had dismantled those professional players, the way he carried the entire team on his shoulders. Her cheeks burned all over again, forcing her to look down at the pavement.

"You texted me," Sana said, her voice coming out a little softer than she intended. "You have never texted me before. Why are you here?"

"I needed you for something," Karl explained, shifting his weight on the heavy bike. "I have a few specific strategies I want to run through with you regarding your lane rotations. But you look like you are heading out."

"I am," Sana admitted, looking down at her shoes again. "My dad called. I am going to meet him right now. It is a family thing."

Karl studied her for a quiet moment. He noticed the slight tremble in her hands and the tense set of her shoulders.

"Where are you meeting him?" Karl asked.

"At a diner about twenty minutes from here," Sana replied.

"Get on," Karl said, nodding his head toward the back of the sleek motorcycle. "I will drop you off. I can wait outside for you while you handle your family business, and we can talk about the team strategies on the way back."

Sana blinked, completely taken aback by the offer. She looked at the heavy machine, and then back up at Karl.

"You do not have to do that, Kazu," Sana said hastily. "It might take a while. I do not want to waste your time."

"It is not a waste of time," Karl countered, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "Put the spare helmet on and get on the bike, Sana."

She could not reject him. The sheer thought of turning down the offer made her chest physically ache. She walked forward with trembling legs, taking the spare black helmet he offered her and slipping it securely over her head.

She climbed awkwardly onto the back of the powerbike, the leather seat cool against her legs. There was very little space between them.

"Hold on," Karl instructed, reaching down to kick the heavy stand up.

Sana hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. His back was incredibly broad and solid against her chest. As she leaned in, she was instantly enveloped in his scent, a clean, sharp mixture of cedar, rain, and the faint smell of leather from his jacket.

Her heart completely exploded, hammering so wildly she was genuinely afraid he would be able to feel it beating against his back.

The powerful engine roared to life, vibrating through the frame of the bike and directly into her bones. Karl twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle launched forward into the busy streets of the district.

Sana squeezed her eyes shut, tightening her grip around him, and completely surrendered herself to the ride.